


Of Sunlight and Copper

by LadyMaigrey



Category: Daredevil (TV), True Blood (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Porn With Plot, Religion, Some angst, Vampire Bites, post-college pre-Daredevil, vague True Blood timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMaigrey/pseuds/LadyMaigrey
Summary: Matt Murdock's sense of justice was always easily engaged on behalf of marginalised and misunderstood communities. So when an opportunity came for him to work on a legal case representing a vampire, Matt eagerly jumped on board. The case involved travelling to Louisiana to interview a witness in a bar outside of Bon Temps.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Jessica Hamby
Comments: 14
Kudos: 16





	Of Sunlight and Copper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyEllison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/gifts), [CaribMermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaribMermaid/gifts).



> This is a result of a prompt by LilyEllison and CaribMermaid, and heavily related to [this Twitter response](https://twitter.com/deborahannwoll/status/1256040113970098176) by the wonderful Deborah Ann Woll.
> 
> Thank you to the amazing LilyEllison for her comprehensive beta suggestions, grammar fixes and encouragement.
> 
> (for all those following my Reclaiming the Martyr series - Part 5 will be up soon!)

“No, buddy, this is weird as fuck. This is, like, the ultimate weirdness. It even beats Jesse Roland’s end-of-year paper on the evolution of the judicial system in the My Little Pony universe!” Foggy shifted on his stool to better face Matt. “I mean, let’s ignore the fact that, even two years ago, vampires were a thing on tv that only goths, nerds and Victorian romance novel junkies paid attention to. Actually, I think I might’ve repeated myself there… Not the point! The point is that now we have anti-discrimination statute debates and property rights cases going all the way to the Supreme Court for … for creatures that drink human blood, man! I mean, come on – you are the one that always goes on about the sanctity of human life. Life! Not unlife! Not unlife that, you know, eats life!”

Matt lost the battle with the giggles despite the, frankly, not-entirely-in-jest prejudice that fountained out of Foggy.

“In recognizing the humanity of our fellow beings, we pay ourselves the highest tribute, Foggy,” he managed to force out between the bubbling laughter. He also gave up on his attempt to keep hold of his beer glass, thumping it down on the already-soaked coaster.

“Humanity, Matt! I bet that if your Justice Marshall knew what we know now, he would’ve added a caveat when he said that.”

“All evidence suggests that vampires are still human – an underrepresented, marginalised and hated section of humanity. By the laws of our land, and by moral standards, we need to do our best to help them integrate into the larger society. And we start by helping Landman & Zack’s client, Mr Chikarsky, to regain his property rights in Queens...”

“…By going out to find a witness to the sale in bumfuck Louisiana. I know, I know, and kudos to you for scoring a ticket out of a New York’s winter on the firm’s dime. But, Matt – vampires! And I thought sharks were bad! I don’t wanna see you end up on the menu.”

Matt laughed again. “I’ll be fine. I can look after myself, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I do believe it, I just…” Foggy’s comedic cautionary rant was derailed by a distorted voice over the loudspeakers announcing the start of boarding for a Delta flight to New Orleans.

“That’ll be you, buddy.” He slid off the stool as Matt downed the last of the suds. “Seriously, be careful. You’ve never left Manhattan, you have no idea what’s waiting for you out there in the wilds.”

Matt grinned and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, unfolding his cane. “Since we are in Queens now, your argument has flaws, counselor. But I’ll be careful.”

He was almost startled when Foggy wrapped him in a hug.

* * *

The crunch of gravel under the tires, the smell of burning oil and exhaust flowing through the taxi’s air vents - all informed Matt that they’d arrived at their destination. He passed the cabbie a handful of what he hoped were tens: too much for the already gratuitously-expensive trip, but the Shreveport driver had balked almost to the point of refusing the fare once he heard the name of the bar. From the flash of heat around the cabbie’s neck and the bellow of his breathing, Matt suspected that his glasses and cane were the only things that stopped the guy from becoming physically persistent. Matt had wrestled down his rising temper, though - the man’s heartbeat and sweat were screaming genuine fear. But, still, it was a difficult trip, stewing as Matt was in the too-hot smoke-and-vomit-scented car, while the driver poured out his terror. “Those fuckin’ Democrats wanna end us all,” and “They be in cahoots with them vamps,” and “I’d stake ‘em all if I could.” He twisted his head then, saliva flying towards Matt. “Fang-bangers too! They sure be wantin’ a stake up their ass.” 

The relief of stepping out into the balmy night air almost made Matt’s head spin. 

He unsnapped his cane and oriented himself, zeroing in on the large squat building vibrating with a steady beat and the grind of a distorted bass guitar. The voices inside were drowned by the scream of the vocal track, but he could pick out, with a startling clarity, every word that passed between the couples and groups mingling in the sprawling carpark. Each pulse of air travelled into his ears upon a conduit insulated by silence. Here - in the middle of ‘bumfuck Louisiana’, in the endless expanse unbroken by skyscrapers, away from the constant buzz of the teeming millions living next door – Matt’s senses flowed out on a wave so effortless, he was almost panicked, almost desperate in his need to sift and to focus and to listen to the heartbeats beneath the voices.

Heartbeats that, for all the overwhelming clarity, he couldn’t hear, no matter how much he strained.

He did a mental double-take, but there was no mistake.

Matt took one more calming breath and walked amid the rolling of dusty pebbles disturbed by his sweeping cane. He focused on the club’s front door – a waxing and waning source of music, bursting out at each swing and clack. He did not notice the woman standing before it until the rising breeze rustled her hair, tangled in her earrings and slid over the slick cloth wrapping her form. A high-heeled boot clicked on concrete as she shifted, and skin brushed the satin at her hip.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place, sugar?”

The voice rolled over him, binding him to a standstill before her, his senses scrambling to latch onto anything in lieu of heartbeat, of body heat.

“I’m here to meet someone.”

“A human? Or a ... vampire?” The last syllable was stretched into enticement. Or - a warning. Matt couldn’t tell and clenched his hand around the cane.

“An acquaintance,” he clipped out.

“Weeelllll, I trust you ain’t a Bible-basher, but I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for.” The boot clicked again and she opened the door before him, blasting him with a guitar riff. “Come on in,” she added and he stepped through into the din, suddenly becoming aware of the ludicrousness of his suit-and-tie ensemble among the smells of leather, sweat and skin buffeting him.

Well, at least no one knew him here.

Matt skimmed the floor with his cane, focusing to avoid the brightly-flaming and the barely-shimmering figures in his path as he made his way across to the bar resonating with polished wood and glass. Heads turned, conversations hushed. He slotted himself between two leather-backed chairs.

“What can I get you?” Another voice he did not expect, this one hurried, curiosity tempered by the bored experience of bar workers everywhere.

“Bourbon. Neat.” He surprised himself.

The vampire ducked her head, reaching for a glass and a bottle from under the bar. Acrid perfume hit his nose, dissolving into a smell of cinnamon and cloves and the sweet richness of whiskey.

The bourbon burned down his gullet, settling over his jangled nerves. His twitching senses, spooked as they were by the incongruity of input, started to adjust, clarifying the club’s space. He found that concentrating on the sounds of movement was enough to tell him that the place was busy but not stifling. Most of the people inside congregated around the small high tables or on the semi-circular leather couches behind him. To the left of him, near the door, was an alcove – the slight movement of cloth on either side of it suggested that this was a stage, though no equipment crowded it. Instead, there was a chair, and the wisps of air currents suggested that a tall figure reclined there with the absolute stillness of an effigy. An effigy filled with blood, pulsing out its warmth.

The door opened and a man walked through, making a beeline towards the bar.

“Mr Murdock, I presume?”

“Mr Dupaux?” Matt stood up and extended his hand. The man exuded heat and wiry strength as he gripped it; a scent that was rich with musk, almost feral, invaded Matt’s nostrils over the barmaid’s perfume.

“Looks like Josh has lucked out with his lawyers. You have balls, sir, to walk into a vamp bar, out here, all on your own, and blind. “He leaned his hip against the counter, crossed his arms.

“It’s a nice bar. And quiet, compared to New York. Shall we talk?” Matt tilted his head to a table in the corner that was empty of bodies shuffling around it.

“No need. I’ll testify,” he drawled.

“Why did you insist on meeting me all the way out here?” Matt knew his voice failed to hide his annoyance.

“Like I said – wanted to know what you was made of. You ain’t VLA, you ain’t been in the shit-storm post-Revelation, and New York ain’t known to be all that welcomin’ of vamps. So – chances were mighty high that you were a prejudicial fuck out to get his paycheck and vamoose.” He sniffed. “You ain’t too afraid either.”

Matt blinked behind his glasses. Maybe that was his bias showing through, but he wasn’t used to sighted people being that observant.

He wrenched his mind back on track. “Why are you helping Mr Chikarsky?”

“Saved me years ago, when my pack decided to tear me a new one for fuckin’ the wrong bitch. So - figured I owed him.”

Matt schooled his face to remain expressionless and his teeth to unclench.

“Anyway,” Dupaux continued, “y’all let me know when the case gets to court. Send me a ticket. Daytime is fine, as you may have noticed, despite what you may have expected.” He turned around and sauntered towards the front door.

Matt closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. The scent of cinnamon returned.

“Looks to me like you could do with ‘nother one,” an offhand voice spoke over the bar. “Sorry, can’t let you use the shower to wash his shit manners off.”

Matt forced his lips to stretch in return. “Another one would be great, thanks.”

She nodded and ducked down again. A softer voice drifted from a couple chairs over to his left. “Did you really come roun’ here from New York, just to meet him?”

Matt turned his head, taking in the slight but tall female form folded into the chair’s contours, swivelling her seat on its axis with a push of a toe against the bar. No warmth emanated from her skin; instead it centred in her voice – a rich, husky drawl and ringing vowels, come-hither confidence and youthful shyness at the question mark. It spilled on his ears and washed up against his frustration, quirking the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah. As interns, we get one rule: do as the partners say. Usually means dancing to everybody else’s tune, so...”

“So, you aren’t a lawyer?”

“Oh, I am. Just on the lowest tier of the pecking order.”

“And – not a Bible basher?”

“So you heard that?”

“Yeah, we, um, we have pretty good hearing.” She stopped the chair’s movement at the top of its arc, sliding off and moving towards him with a bottle in one hand, extending the other. “Hi, I’m Jessica.”

The expected awkwardness stretched, until he heard an embarrassed intake of breath. “Oh, how incredibly dumb of me…” She dropped her hand.

“Did you just hold your hand out?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“It’s OK. Happens all the time.” He smiled wider and extended his own hand. “I’m Matt.” 

Jessica grasped it with a giggle, startling him with the ordinariness of the texture of her skin beneath the cold. The chair next to him sank under her weight, while his curiosity was still focused on the shape of her fingers imprinted against the heat of his palm. A strong smell of iron and preservatives wafting from the bottle in her hand hit him, and he scratched his nose to hide his response, before taking a swallow from his own glass in an attempt to override the heavy tang invading his palate.

“Do people around here have anything against Bible bashers? I thought that the religious aversion was one of the myths,” he teased, rewinding the conversation back to the pre-awkwardness stage.

“Well, a bar full of semi-naked folk is not likely to be the best place to preach. Even without any vampires.”

“Semi-naked?”

“Oh, uhh, yeah … its… you sure can consider yourself lucky.” She paused, probably realising that she tripped into another hole, and then bravely stuttered on, “Umm... in that you can’t see the fashion statements made here I mean… Oh God, I suck at this!” Her last words came out muffled by her hands over her face.

Matt couldn’t help laughing. “I’m guessing not many blind people around here.”

She shook her head, hair sliding over skin at her back, and Matt suppressed another surge of amusement. It was all so fascinatingly normal, so very familiar. All those Friday nights he and Foggy spent at college bars and grungy clubs, revelling in the week’s departure and looking for a pleasant voice and easy company. Not that he was looking for anything like that – certainly not here – but the tightness across his shoulders and neck seemed to have receded with the level of whiskey in his glass.

“There was this one lady, at our church, who was totally blind… but, she had her family with her all the time, and they were so _natural,_ you know?” Jessica’s hands dropped back to her bottle, “And I didn’t talk to her much myself so, umm, never learned.”

Matt tipped the last of his whiskey onto his tongue. “You speak of it in the past. Do you still go?”

“Uh no… But… that don’t have anythin’ to do with bein’ a vampire. Or, I don’t know, maybe it does. I just… I don’t think I’d be …” She shook her head again. “What about you? Are you religious?”

The pain of a Christian rejection, which she barely veiled, pinched at him, threatening to fill his head with questions on whether any community of faithful could tolerate a devil’s presence in their midst. He grinned through them. “Yeah. Unrepentant Catholic. Not a good one though, so I don’t preach.”

He held up his glass in the direction of the bartender, mouthing _please_ when she approached. “What will you have?” he asked.

“Oh, no, thank you.” She raised the bottle cupped between her hands, the viscous liquid inside sloshing. It wasn’t quite blood, he could tell – at least not blood that could ever sustain a life. It was too metallic, too sterile, too lacking in the organic honesty of a secret spilled or a vow sealed.

“So, what’s New York like?” Jessica broke the silence that settled between them while he was waiting for his tumbler to be refilled.

“Big, noisy, smelly. It’s awake all the time. Can’t tell you much about the sights, but I can sniff out a great cup of coffee.”

A puff of breath announced her giggle. For no reason he could fathom, he wanted to keep drawing them from her. “Maybe you can visit it someday? I understand there are now flights and accommodations that, ah, will allow you to travel safely.”

“Yeah, maybe I will. One day. I’ve never been farther than Dallas yet, and that’s been fun, but I’ve never… I haven’t, umm, had a chance to really explore, you know?”

He heard the uncertain notes of shy embarrassment again.

“You know, this is my first time away from New York.”

“Really?” Her voice bore unconcealed amazement. “What’s it like, for you? I mean, is it, like, strange to be away? From what you know?”

“Strange. Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

“Is it, um…”

“Is _scary_ the word you are looking for?” The displaced air told him she was nodding, and he barely restrained himself from sparing her another faux pas.

“Oh, shit. I, yeah, I nodded. I am sorry. Is that bad? I mean askin’ you about it all?”

“No, it’s actually refreshing. Most people tend to be too afraid to offend me and question every word they want to say. Hard to have a conversation under those conditions." He also tended to dismiss most people as not worth even trying to have a conversation with, unless he detected a certain amount of boldness to them. “To answer your question, yeah, new places that I don’t know can be, uh, unsettling. I have pretty good hearing, the cane is effective for obstacles and I can usually get a sense of a place. It’s practice. But the openness here, outside, it feels _vast_. Empty. Is it?”

“Outside Fangtasia? Yeah, it’s out of the way of everythin’. Nothing but forest and highway round us. I think that’s how Eric and Pam wanted it. Umm, they’re the owners. Vamps may be ‘all out’, and this is all legal, but… out of sight, out of mind, they say.”

Matt heard a shift directly ahead of him on the stage, a creak of leather, of hair brushing shoulders, and then the monarch was still again. “Do you get much harassment here?” he asked.

The fiddling of Jessica’s fingers stopped. “Do you think anyone’s dumb enough to start shit in a bar full of vampires?” The warmth of her voice still flowed into his ears, but the dormant lethality behind it stirred the short hairs on Matt’s arms.

Matt licked his lips. “No, you aren't exactly helpless.”

“In the eyes of the law, we would do better if we were.” Now there was frustration in her tone, a cynicism that fitted ill with her earlier bashful playfulness. For the first time, Matt wondered how old she might be, how much had she seen.

“The self-defence exception applies to vampires as it does to humans. If your life is threatened…” he began.

“It don't work like that.” The sharpness was back in her tone. “Ain't no court in the land will buy that a vampire didn’t start it. That they weren’t out to feed. There’re too many humans convinced that Tru Blood ain’t the same as the real thing, and we’re just waitin’ for our chance to rip someone’s throat out. VLA can have all the prime-time debates it likes, but that won’t change.”

Matt focused on the foul-smelling bottle, still sounding more than half-full. "It's not, though."

“What do you mean?” Confusion now mixed with caution in her short words.

“Tru Blood. You don’t seem to be drinking it.”

“Maybe I’m not hungry.”

He smiled, hoping it looked relaxed enough. “Maybe that’s it. Forgive me. My wish to learn runs away with my manners sometimes.”

“What is it you want to learn?” Her voice sounded mellower again, coming down from its clipped height.

“I’m an attorney, about to go to court on behalf of a vampire, in a city that, while seemingly the homeground for superpowered beings like the Avengers, is remarkably reluctant to embrace the supernatural. Anything you are willing to tell me - I want to know.”

OK, so he wasn’t the lead attorney on the case – far from it; and there was still a more-than-even chance for a settlement to be reached before anyone set foot in the hallowed halls of justice. The rest, however, was true – he did want to know all he could of this elusive, dangerous, yet marginalised and hated group, which was openly opposed by some of the heroic class of New York. Particularly, one known as Blade, who, rumor had it, was happy to use the most extreme measures on anyone that chose to sleep in a coffin rather than on a mattress.

More than that though, Matt wanted to learn about this woman, whose presence and voice brought an unexpected lightness and laughter to this vexing evening, despite the unnatural blood powering her preterhuman body.

It sounded like Jessica was worrying her lip between her teeth, while her nails – thick with a coat of pungent lacquer over them – clicked their way up and down the bottle in her lap. Abruptly, the bottle’s base clacked against the bar.

“You know the difference between the proper home-made mashed potatoes – when you got lots of butter and cream and you keep whippin’ and mashin’ it until it’s so fluffy it melts in your mouth – and the stuff they sell in packets that’s all dehydrated and shit? It’s like that. But multiply it by a hundred. Or a thousand. And you still won’t come close. Blood – it’s like everythin’ you want, everythin’ you long for. Every good thing you ever experienced, or imagined, it’s all in the taste. It’s warmth and comfort, and it feels _safe_. Like nothin’ can ever go wrong. It’s almost as good as sunshine; I don’t miss sunshine then, just for a bit …”

And just like that, Matt’s mind transported him back to that street, his body curiously numb and buzzing, while his mind wrestled with the pieces of the past five minutes: an elderly man, a truck. And after – a lot of noise, a lot of shouting and whistling and screeching and… was that a dog barking? And why was his face wet and his eyes burning? It was the first sensation that brought him to the physical awareness of his own body, but even that couldn’t keep his attention from trying to solve the essential puzzle of _what happened?_ Which was now joined by another, no less imperative question of _where is my Dad?_ and the building panic that merged with the maddening itch in his eyes. And then his Dad was there – worry wrinkling his seamed skin, harsh breaths flaring his broken nose, the halo of haze-filtered sunlight around his head.

_Close your eyes, Matty! Close your eyes._

Darkness was creeping in around the edge of his vision, stealing the halo, biting at his father’s face, but he hadn’t yet closed his eyes! He was, in fact, widening them, trying to force the swarming midges away from the image he held onto. And, even when their inexorable march had swallowed all of his sunlight, he still held onto that image: the sun and his Dad, until that too was taken from him.

And, God, he still missed it.

He swallowed the memory with the annoying lump that formed in his throat.

“What…” He coughed past the stubborn swelling. “What’s it like for the other person?”

“The human? I mean... sorry… It’s… ” Matt heard the soft rasp of palms against the silky material of her dress. “It’s meant to be…. I mean it can be real nice. I am not sure how it works, but... if the person is willin’ and relaxed… there's all these hormones I guess. It works even better during sex…” Jessica’s mouth snapped closed and Matt was pretty certain she clapped a hand to it. He almost had to do the same to stifle his laugh.

She heard it anyway, and got defensive. “I mean fang-bangers - it's a horrid name, but it’s a thing, you know? I don't think they all have a death wish or something... Not that they die! Shit! You’re a lawyer… Fuck!”

Matt lost his hold over the sound surging out of him, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, his chair squeaking its protest over the sudden weight shift. Her giggle joined in the caper from behind her hand.

“Does that rule where lawyers can’t say what they heard apply here?”

“Attorney-client privilege?” Matt lifted his glasses for a second to swipe his fingers across his eyes. “Not really, but it’s all hearsay, anyway. Wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law, since I haven’t personally experienced anything yet.” He felt light-headed, like he sucked on pure oxygen, like she lifted up the anchor of his memories and promised to free him of the weight. A distant corner of his mind yelled at him that he was mad, and he knocked it down with the rest of the whiskey from his glass.

She laughed. “And, as a smart lawyer, you ain’t gonna get led into anythin’ you didn’t want.”

Matt spoke before his brain had a chance to catch up through the bourbon buzz and bury him in an avalanche of misgivings. “Maybe I do want.”

“Why?” She was genuinely perplexed.

Why indeed. It probably had something to do with his insatiable infernal drive to know all – to understand and test himself against anything his senses could divulge of life. But - that was a flimsy excuse for his wish to simply bury himself in the arms of a woman whose nature exuded both joyful tenderness and danger, and maybe this time come away unharmed.

“I like the sound of your voice,” he said.

“We can keep talking.” There was uncertainty there, but he could’ve bet any of his remaining four senses that there was excitement there too.

“This was turning into a dismal, fruitless trip for me. And then I met you. I enjoy your company. I want to continue enjoying your company. And, I told you, I want to learn. And, maybe, I want to know what it’s like.”

There was a clack of a nail against her teeth, and another scrape of fingers against the bottle beside her. Even though he could not hear her heartbeat, or the shift in her breathing, or a change in her scent, there was a tightening of her body - a coiling that felt equal parts hesitant and predatory. Adrenaline tinged his bloodstream, freeing his muscles, opening him up to anything and everything that this night might throw at him.

Her cold hand touched his. He unfurled his fingers, finding them laced with hers as she tugged him out of the chair, barely giving him a chance to hook his laptop bag up, and then around the corner of the bar, past the stage with the still-throned figure that twitched its head towards them, and down a corridor towards a door to privacy.

She stood facing him in a room that seemed to serve as an office, with the characteristic electrical hum and heat of a computer, the sound swallowed by a soft mass against the wall that wafted the smells of fabric cleaner and buried dust. The presence of varnished wood and old cardboard registered in the background of his mind, but his focus was taken up with the woman before him, who slipped her hand from his and now raised it to the tie at his breast, twisting it around her fingers.

This close to her, he could hear a chaotic thrum under her skin – a pulsing twisting flowing potency that spoke of banked heat and hunger; a block of ice, a wax candle – waiting for a spark to begin the process of melting and boiling and burning.

Her hand slid up to the loosed knot and the other joined in tugging on the tapered end of the tie, the material hissing and searing his neck with friction as she pulled it free. She smelled of drugstore chemicals that were supposed to represent apricots or, maybe, coconuts, but beneath those nuisance scents was a raw earthiness – the smell of loam and leaves and the richness of earth – an honest clarity of a force of nature barely encroached by civilisation. He leaned in, compelled, seeking her lips in the same barely-conscious way of his fingers running over braille - wanting to parse and find meaning. 

The cold shocked him. Not in itself, but by the absence of shock; erased by the promise of that spark, if only he could find it. Her lips were open, beckoning, and he slipped his tongue in, gliding between her smooth teeth (and that was a bigger shock). She tasted of salt and minerals and toothpaste, and an elusive secret that befuddled his senses and drew him in with abandon of all caution.

Her hands busied themselves with the buttons of his shirt and he could feel the heat now, rising up his chest and settling in his loins, shaped by the cool contrast of her palms as she brushed them against his skin. She turned the tables on him, pushing forward, nibbling on his bottom lip, bringing forth a buzz before calming it with teasing licks. She kissed her way up his jaw and he felt her capture his earlobe, sucking on it with a delicacy that sent shivers down his nerves and blood between his legs. His skin was pebbling-up as if striving to be noticed by her questing mouth, and he settled his hands on her waist, bringing her closer, hardening against her. Her hand slid behind his neck and into his hair, tugging gently as her fingers played and her lips trailed towards his collarbone in an obliging response to the messages his body was sending her. Her other hand settled against his bicep, pressing and kneading in a slow massage.

He heard a click - almost akin to a switchblade, but quieter, fleshier. His hindbrain reacted and froze him in place, his muscles trembling from the whiplash of their interrupted journey towards relaxation, while his thoughts scrambled over themselves to piece together the full sensory frame out of the beguiling details.

Vampire.

Blood.

He asked for this.

He drew in a deep breath, felt strands of her hair fluttering as he let it out, tried to will himself to relax again.

Another breath. But he couldn’t. He settled for forcing himself to hold still.

Two sharp points were pressed to his throat, skin bathed in humid cold. He clenched his jaw; held his breath. Closed his eyes.

Jessica raised her head, and he could hear the lunatic intensity of the clamour under her skin and feel the keenness of her gaze.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and was surprised that his voice did not shake with the effort to stay steady.

She drew her fingers out of his hair and lightly stroked them along his cheekbone under his glasses, leaving a chilly trail that again made him shiver.

“We don’t have to.” Her voice sounded strained, choked.

He licked his lips. “Why? Is my east-coast blood not good enough for your tastes, Miss Jessica?” He tried to give her a confident grin, felt it shake at the corners.

“I like you.” He heard her throat contract. “I think you are a good person. I don’t want… I don’t want anythin’ bad to happen to you. That you don’t like.” Her fingers left his arm, weight tipping into a backwards step.

That click again - softer now and echoing with a disappointed finality.

His heartbeat was still rattling his ribcage - a sticky aural web thudding in his ears, now that the spike of adrenaline was ebbing and his focus wasn’t arrested by the battle with his own instincts. He chose to rely on touch and smell instead - fingers squeezing her waist, stopping her retreat; the scents making him think of petrichor and thirst and of drought breaking.

“Maybe I still want to do some things” — he pulled her closer again — “if that’s OK with you?”

The air brushed his cheek with her nod, and her hands were again at his chest, now slipping between the layers of his shirt and his jacket, working the latter over his shoulders. He released her then, pulling on the sleeves, dropping the lightweight garment on the floor, working at the buttons of his shirt cuffs. Jessica was the one to slip the fabric off his arms. 

He dropped his glasses on top of the cloth pile.

Her fingers trailed down his temple, slow and light and wondrous. Then, in response to her attention, they skipped down his body to skim over his abs, around his flanks, teasing and ticklish if it wasn’t for the intensity of study he perceived in her movement. It brought a warm flush of vanity to his chest and a smile to his lips (chased by the phantom _tsk tsk_ of an ancient voice buried inside a voluminous habit, which he immediately quashed).

Jessica twisted her head in the direction of the fabric-and-dust scent. “There’s a couch to the left of us,” she said, and he took a step towards it, pausing to let her move ahead of him, her hand wrapped lightly around his wrist.

Her leg bumped against the covered frame and he raised his knee, feeling for and planting it on the seat. From her hand, up her arm, his hand was now planted between her shoulder blades, tugging, guiding her willowy form to sit in front of him. She twisted her arms behind his neck and he crowded her lips, his tongue invading her mouth, lapping around hers, mapping out every wet millimetre he touched. His free hand, impatient to join in the campaign of exploration, bunched up the hem of her dress, digging under it for plush skin and long thigh.

Her hold tightened when his hand dragged up her belly, and he tipped her down onto the cushions with the inexorable leverage of his bodyweight and the disorienting swirl of his fingers over her nipple. Her leg slid and straightened under him, thigh lifting to press up between his. The contact shot a spasm up his spine, making him jerk and almost lose his balance, hips stuttering and thrusting into the steady muscle, the twitching of his cock confined by the tightness of his pants, both frustrating him and making him leak. His groans were swallowed between her teeth.

He attempted to distract himself by focusing on her, the plumpness of flesh over sharp ridges of ribs, the dip of her stomach and the rise of her pelvis, smooth skin and downy hair leading towards a band of lace offered to him with the rise of her ass. But then she derailed him yet again, tugging at his belt, button, zip. 

She pushed his pants and boxers down with force and speed that left burning grazes on his hips, and then he was in her grasp, her hand a counterpoint to his heat, making him gasp a breath in and then cry it back out when she slid her palm over his head, coating him with his own liquid.

“Slow down,” he rasped and she giggled. “Why? I like this.” She pulled him down or, maybe, raised herself up holding onto him. Either way, he was lost in the feel of her mouth yet again.

His fingers were left on their own, with barely a command from his brain to direct them, but they fumbled their way underneath the lace and touched her slickness, skimming through it, dipping in, loving the ripple that went through her and ended with a push of her hips onto his hand.

He felt the change beneath his lips before his ears registered the sound. She twisted her head away from him - muttering “fuck” - her hand stilling mid-stroke and releasing as if he already attempted to pull back. A part of him - that was raised in a dreary room full of hard beds and harder crosses - screamed that he should, and he silenced it with his voice, “It’s OK. I don’t care. I want to be inside you.”

Her hair rustled against the couch’s armrest and he heard the tiny muscles within her cheeks tightening as she smiled, exhaling a sigh that was not a word – not quite. Her hand closed again, guiding, threading his cock under the thin scrap of lace still covering her. He sank and his breath was almost knocked out by the snugness of her that enveloped him in a sheath so tight he was afraid to move, sure that he would hurt her. But her legs were wrapping themselves around his back, and her voice was urging him with a drawn out _yeeesss_ , and her hand covered his over her clit, pressing down on his fingers.

And so he moved, with gentleness and precision, concentrating on the circling of their joined fingers, on the quiver of her muscles beneath him and around him, on the soft cries and sighs he drew from her, until he felt her hips snapping towards him harder, challenging his rhythm. She craned her neck forward and he felt himself thicken at the thought of her watching him thrust, and that was enough for her to shake and shudder and yell his name.

And he was so, _so_ close.

But he wanted more.

He wanted to _give_ her more - to this woman, who contained her power through sheer concern for him – a man she just met; a man she could feast on with no compunction, yet didn’t.

He dropped his head down to her shoulder, panting. “You can… . I want you to.”

Her hair slid against his face as she turned towards him.

Then she became a vice around him, gripping his shoulders, his hips, his cock, shoving him over the edge of his control into a brutal moment of bliss from which there was no sane return. He could do nothing, not even scream, only convulse with the imminent eruption and feel those two points of bone press and break and slide into his skin to open up his pulse.

His body throbbed and spilled - into her mouth, into her womb.

The spark caught and held where they joined, tethered by a cat’s cradle of agony and intoxication, tendrils of heat flowing down between them; an inferno under her skin that drew all warmth from his extremities towards his centre. Or her centre. He could no longer tell. He could no longer care to tell.

His mind swam in a pool of light that his memory told him was golden. It was heavier than he remembered. Or, maybe, it was he who lost substance. Either way, it was comforting; a subtle caress blanketing his senses, imploring him to relax, to float and be lulled by a muffled drumbeat coming from somewhere deep within the light.

The drumbeat grew faster, blurring and echoing through him in a melody that he could almost hum to if he had the energy, but his attention was being pulled back to the wonder of the warm luminescence, only slightly spoiled by the impression of cold creeping in at the edge. The drumbeat slowed in agreement with his lethargy, and he ignored the chill’s annoying presence. 

He was jostled out of the reverie with a twisting motion that sent the world careening in a punch-drunk waltz. There was rough fabric scraping at the bare skin of his back, but he could not tell whether he was lying down or sitting up. There was a rush of wind, of movement much too fast, much too silent, like he was standing by the tracks with an express ghost-train gliding past on a time-forgotten schedule … And then a plastic bottle was pressed into his hand, the smell of sugar and orange concentrate hitting his nostrils.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

A warm hand guided his up to his mouth. It seemed he was sitting after all.

He sipped the sweet liquid, grimaced, but the hand urged and he took several more gulps.

The woollen languor beckoned him to drift, his thoughts breaking up and dissolving into echoes of impulses in the medium of a rich voice and a soothing presence.

“I am goin’ to… ” The hand trailed up his arm on a path of narcotic comfort to touch his neck.

His disjointed pieces snapped back together with a hiss of pain.

“Shit. I’m sorry!” Jessica jerked her hand away.

He smelled the acridity of antiseptic from something she held, but the rest of the air was saturated with the smell of copper. The scent spiked with the movement of her fingers to her mouth.

“This will help.” Her fingers were back at his neck before he could shy away, and then his senses were arrested by his flesh knitting and reforming, erasing the wounds and the yelping of his nerves.

He felt his eyes widening – a useless leftover reflex. “What did you do?”

“I, ah… vampire blood… it can heal. We don’t talk about it, cause… it’s not somethin’ we want out, you know? There can be, umm, side effects.”

He tilted his head, focusing.

“Not when it’s that little. It’s OK… It’s just a tiny bit… it won’t affect you at all. Just… don’t tell, OK?”

He smiled. “You trust me.”

Her grin permeated her voice. “You trusted me.”

“What was it like? The taste…”

She hesitated, seeking. “Like home. But not my home, not like what I had with my parents. They, umm, weren’t …very good parents. More like what I think a perfect home would be. For me. Full of smiles and laughter, and people just lovin’ each other, you know? Like that…”

She snuggled up against his side, a heavy bracing warmth, her arm sliding across his waist. He realised that his boxers and pants were again covering his hips.

“What about you? What was it like for you?”

The answer was easy. “Like I haven’t missed the sun.” 

He rested his cheek against her, burying his nose in the clean, light-dappled smell of her hair and closing his eyes.

* * *

He awoke when she stirred - an apologetic tone to her body even before she spoke.

“Ah, it’ll be dawn soon. I, ah, I need to …”

Matt rubbed at his eyes, at the crick in his neck, feeling light-headed and dazed but weirdly rested for the little time he spent sleeping in the past twenty-four hours.

“You need to hide, don’t you?”

“Yeah… I need to sleep. Otherwise… Otherwise I don’t feel so good.”

He nodded and stretched. “I gotta get back to Shreveport. Uh, would there be a cab around here? Or one to call who’d be willing?” He remembered the driver’s disgust at this place being his destination.

Jessica considered, then jumped up. “Wait here.”

The door opened and closed, but he could hear her hurried footsteps down the hall into the nearly-silent club. She began to talk to someone and Matt pulled his attention back inside the room with its scent of dust and accounting, now tramped down by blood and sex.

Her words still followed his ears. “… come on, Ginger, you can do this stuff later.”

A high-pitched shrill voice reverberated so loudly, he did not need enhanced senses to hear it. “Eric and Pam will be mad if I git off not finished!”

“You tell ‘em the King’s progeny ordered you! Or do you want me to glamour you? Would that make it easier?”

“Oh no! No… I can do it. Sure! I’ll… I’ll go get my keys then, shall I?”

Jessica was back while Matt was still smiling and wondering at his own lack of guilt. The only explanation he could come up with was that he was simply feeling too relaxed to properly care.

“One of the workers is still here. She’ll get you to Shreveport, OK?”

“Thank you.” He got up, began to pull his shirt and jacket on. Jessica handed him his tie and glasses, the first of which he balled up and shoved into his pants pocket, slipping the second onto his face. “Would you, by any chance, know what happened to my cane? I think I left it on the bar?”

“Oh, Tara would’ve hidden it. I’ll find it.” She took his hand and laced their fingers.

They stood outside the bar in the wind full of dust and exhaust and smell of leaves, the car’s engine hot and ticking before them.

He turned to Jessica. “You know, I don’t have to leave now. I can delay my flight. Can I, maybe, take you out for coffee tonight?” It dawned on him what he said, and it seemed there was plenty of blood still left in his body to flood his face. “Uh, sorry … Well, maybe I can drink it first, and then you?” He was sure his grin was more-than-a-little sheepish.

She laughed. “You know, I’d really like that. I mean, I _would’ve_ liked that, but…” Matt nodded, his insides growing slightly heavier, tighter, making it just that little bit harder for his lungs to expand. Or, maybe, that was all just lingering side effects. He heard the air displacement as she shifted, her still-warm skin coming closer with her hand. She touched his arm, fingertips just brushing over the fuzzy hairs, then withdrew. “Maybe, one day, I will make it to New York… or, I don’t know… another lifetime?”

He heard the wistfulness and it drew him closer until his lips met her copper-tasting ones.

It chased him as he folded up his cane and climbed into the waiting car.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me and the Karedevil squad on [Tumblr](https://ladymaigrey.tumblr.com/)


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